I VANT A WEEZA 177Master, a green felt pen with which we made notes on the applications,
and captions on the funny photos. Then, he introduced me to Marija, a
super-competent bilingual local employee who would make quick phone
calls on our behalf to check out suspected fraud cases. Finally, he intro-
duced me to Vesna, a sassy and foul-mouthed middle-aged receptionist
who “welcomed” the hordes of visa applicants to the visa section and made
sure their applications were completed properly. Just before meeting her, I
overheard the woman say in Serbian to an elderly, well-dressed gentleman,
“Fuck it, sir, you forgot to sign the application!”
There were two side-by-side, confessional-like interview booths, so Joe was
able to do his job while keeping an eye (and ear) on me at the same time.
It took less than an hour for me to conclude that I would never want Joe’s
job. For starters, it seemed as if most of the visa applicants lied, although
I couldn’t blame them. If I were from a dismal country that was going
from bad to worse, from communism to civil war, I’d want out too. Making
things even more interesting, deranged individuals would sometimes enter
the visa section, make a scene, and have to be physically tossed out by
the marines. When that happened, the consulate was transformed into a
Balkan version of the Jerry Springer Show.
After volunteering for a couple of mornings, I had had enough. (For
their part, Vesna and Marija had no doubt had enough of listening to
Freddy Fender’s Greatest Hits, which I played nonstop during my brief inter-
lude in the visa section.) At around 11:00 a.m., I told Joe I was just too
busy with my own stressful job to help him out any further, and besides, I
was hungry and wanted to get lunch. I felt bad for him, but his visa section
nightmare was not my problem. Joe was especially overwhelmed that day
(as always) and begged me to stay another hour or two. Although I was fed
up with the applicants’ lies, and the generally unpleasant working environ-
ment, I reluctantly agreed to stay until noon to help reduce my friend’s
caseload for the afternoon.
Still hungry and eager to put this experience behind me for good, I was
in no mood when the next applicant sauntered smugly up to my interview
booth.